Just Blame Your Namesake
by TsubameTrebleClef
Summary: Being a Viking isn't as cool as your fathers make it out to be. Getting bumps and bruises is a common occurrence – on the outside, on the inside, and everywhere in between. But it's not so bad when shared, even if neither Snotlout nor Hiccup expected they would share much of anything.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I've been shipping platonic stuff a lot recently, and this is no exception. It'll be a two-shot, just because one chapter of dorkiness wasn't enough for me.**

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Snotlout barely made it through the armoury door before the heavy hammer flew from his grip and collided with the extensive assortment of weapons piled against the high walls. He hadn't intended to throw it, but there it went, burying itself in the depths of Norse pride and joy and catalysing an ear-splitting avalanche of metal and wood. He jumped back and swore loudly as broadswords and maces spilled forward, and jumped and swore some more at the unmistakably human yell that came from within the downpour. A small, skinny boy clad in green and brown emerged seconds later, ducking and dodging with his arms over his head. He hurtled forward and knocked the wind right out of Snotlout, who staggered back with a surprised "Oof!" but managed to stay on his feet.

The last of several cascading daggers rattled to a stop. Hiccup picked himself up off the dusty floor and immediately expressed his outrage with an incredulous "Are you trying to _kill_ me, Snotlout?"

"I – uh – didn't think anyone was here." It wasn't often that Snotlout found himself in a position of defensive spluttering, or so he liked to believe. He usually considered himself to be the one making other people splutter and enjoying the sight to the full. This turning of the tables did not please him.

Hiccup was eyeing him with an odd mixture of defiance and . . . what was it, exactly? The way his shoulders were caved in just slightly, the way his head was bent and he was looking up at Snotlout with his eyes half-shadowed . . . it was almost like he expected to be ridiculed and shamed and had already resigned himself to the idea.

It wasn't as though Snotlout could deny he had justification for it. Even now, a small part of him felt tempted to tell Hiccup he was so scrawny that no one could see him even if he hadn't been hidden amongst piles of weapons. A pretty clever jab, wasn't it?

He didn't administer it. Both of them stood there awkwardly, determined to have their entire attention consumed by every nearby object except each other. After a while Snotlout snuck a glance at the other boy, only to be met with Hiccup's gaze flicking towards him. In that quick moment he saw a glimmer of wry confusion shoot in his direction.

"So what are you doing, anyway?" he said, careful to sound like he couldn't care less.

The impression seemed to work on Hiccup, who looked less than flattered to be spoken to this way. "My dad's been complaining about the amount of broken or damaged things in here." He shrugged. "Thought I'd take some back to the forge and get them repaired before he snaps and burns the village to the ground."

"Right." Something squirmy and niggling that Snotlout couldn't quite place had begun to twist its way from inside him. "Your dad."

He muttered the last part somewhat involuntarily, and Hiccup frowned. "What about him?"

The problem was that Snotlout didn't know the answer to that himself. He had tramped in here in a highly irritated state, as he often did on nights like this, but conversing with Hiccup right now bothered him in a way he couldn't fathom. "Nothing much. He probably boasts about you to anyone who listens."

He saw the surprise in Hiccup's face, surprise that quickly narrowed into suspicion. "Uh . . . me? Why would he do that?"

Why? He was asking why? Snotlout laughed, uncertain of the game he was playing. It wasn't a particularly entertaining one. "Because you kind of saved Berk? You brought down a fat, ugly cannibal dragon with what looked like a nasty skin condition, remember?"

Hiccup laughed too then. "Okay, well, maybe I did. But I'm nothing without dragons, without Toothless. You know that."

"I don't know that. Toothless didn't just magically appear, demand to get along with you and stop a war. That was all you."

"But that doesn't mean my dad –"

"You're still saying that?" A sharp pain twanged in his arm as he made a sweeping gesture, and he retracted it hastily, hoping Hiccup wouldn't notice.

No such luck. Something like pity stirred in his expression, which induced in Snotlout a strong desire to slug him all the way to Asgard, where the gods could fawn over him all they liked, as long as Snotlout didn't have to witness it. He looked away, wishing Hiccup wasn't so smart and quick to understand, wishing those shrewd green eyes would stop being trained on him, seeing straight through him, judging him – seeing even those parts of him he took pains to bury under a flimsy layer of arrogance and disrespect.

But he supposed it wasn't because Hiccup was smart. He _was_ , but oh mighty Ragnarök, he could be so clueless at times.

No, it was because he truly did understand. He had spent his whole life feeling the way Snotlout did now. He had accepted that reality for so long, had grown so accustomed to it that his newfound hero status intimidated him. At mealtimes, at dragon training, on strolls through the village, Snotlout still caught him making excuses to people who stopped to talk to him and slipping away, preferring his own company.

When all was said and done, maybe they weren't so unalike after all.

"Snotlout," Hiccup began, and then stopped, chewing his lip. "All right, I'm going to sound like an obnoxious brat, but I didn't ask for any of it to happen." Snotlout wondered why he even cared about sounding obnoxious, considering who he was talking to. "I just shot a Night Fury out of the sky through pure luck and everything kind of snowballed. It's not like I wanted to promote peace or defend the dragons or almost get burnt to a crisp in a firestorm. It's not like I wanted to go against what my father believed in –"

"But you did."

"Yeah, well –" Hiccup broke off and looked at Snotlout curiously. "You know, I've never really thought about it, but . . . you listen to your father, don't you?"

Every muscle in Snotlout's body was beginning to ache, and the question did nothing but rub salt in the wound. He was aware of being covered in dirt and sweat, of having leaves and twigs stuck in his hair. He set his jaw and stared at the floor for a minute. "Fine, I listen to him," he said at last. "What's your point? That I'm too dumb to do otherwise? Maybe I am. Maybe I don't know better, and that's why I'm forever trying to meet his impossible expectations and always falling short." His brain was reeling at the words tumbling from his mouth. Why was he saying all this? But if Hiccup had trusted him enough to confide in him, perhaps the least he could do was be honest in return. "I'm not you, okay? I don't have insane ideas to test behind his back. I've been brought up a Viking warrior and that's all I'll ever be. I'm not even good at it, not like Astrid, hitting the mark with her axe every time from fifty yards away." He took a deep breath and pushed it out again through his teeth. "There. Happy?"

Happy couldn't accurately describe Hiccup at this moment. If anything, mixed with wide-eyed amazement was an implacable obstinacy that animated his face, that made you forget how small he was, how gentle and modest. He said nothing for some time, opting to fix his gaze on a spot just beside Snotlout, obviously thinking hard. The stubborn glow in his eyes flared brighter with each passing second. Finally he said, "Do you think I wasn't like that? Because I was. I still am, really. I haven't stopped driving my dad up the wall and wishing I was more competent at being, you know, the offspring of Vikings."

Snotlout shuffled a bit where he stood, scuffing his boots in the dirt. "Really?"

"Really." He smiled, and Snotlout was reminded of why he had been the one to bring humans and dragons together, this boy with next to no assets on the battlefield but so much kindness in his heart, which had turned out to be the greatest asset of all. "And in a lot of ways you're better at it than I am. I'd break all the bones I have before I could knock someone out."

"Toothless would do it for you in half a second," said Snotlout, and Hiccup's face lit up with surprised gratitude.

The sky was pitch black outside, and the flames burning in the torches danced serenely. Snotlout half-turned toward the door, the draught cool against his flushed skin, and paused.

"You're not going to – uh – tell anyone, are you?" he asked a little reluctantly. "About what I said. It wasn't –" _It wasn't true anyway_ , he'd wanted to say, but that would be an outright lie, and Hiccup knew it. "I mean – okay, maybe I shouldn't have said anything in the first place, but since I did – well – never mind."

Hiccup's eyes sparked with amusement as he grappled with his thoughts. Not in a way that suggested condescension, but it was still difficult to shake the feeling of being laughed at.

"I won't tell anyone," Hiccup assured him. "I swear. To the gods."

"All of them?" said Snotlout doubtfully.

"All of them."

Snotlout contemplated this for a moment, and then marched up to him and gave him a nice whack over the head for good measure. "Sorry I almost killed you."

"Well, after losing a leg, nothing really fazes you anymore," said Hiccup with a long-suffering air. He rubbed his head resentfully. "You sure have a strange way of apologising to people."

Snotlout flashed a broad grin at him and strode out the door. Just before he turned away, he caught Hiccup watching him with a look that plainly said, _I guess the old Snotlout's back_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here we are, guys. Thanks to those who reviewed, faved and followed!**

 **I only watched the latest season of RTTE after I wrote these, and I wish I'd watched it earlier. One particular line in the first chapter seems like it was taken right out of Ep 4 oops. Oh well.**

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The day had been going fairly well, at least by Hiccup's standards. He'd only gotten punched in the gut once while trying to break up a fight between Mulch, Bucket and a couple of others, no dragon had set anything on fire yet, and the chickens that the twins had accidentally let loose had, after an hour of frenzied yelling and confusion, all been rounded up. Moreover, the village still had an ample stock of food, the crops were putting in their best efforts to stay alive on inhospitable Berk soil, and the island was under no threat of attack. So all in all, a little wearing, but it could have been worse.

It could have been, and he was thankful it wasn't – until, all of a sudden, it was worse than he could have foreseen.

He only stopped for a chat with Spitelout on his way back to the house. Just a casual, innocent chat that turned his innards to ice. They two of them were standing halfway up the hill, and Hiccup found himself looking into Spitelout's face, so full of laid-back amusement just a second ago, but now radiating cold fury from every pore. His eyes were soaked black by the night, and Hiccup felt them pierce right through him, as though he had no more substance than a wooden frame of a house. The wind seemed to whistle between his bones, cold and harrowing.

"So it's all because of you," Spitelout ground through his teeth, his voice a low rumble.

Hiccup nodded mutely, unable to bear the weight of his gaze any longer. He felt fifteen again, shrinking into the shadows of the Great Hall while the depth of his betrayal was made known to him.

"You were the one responsible. And here we were, thinking you'd finally made yourself useful to us. I was a fool to believe it."

"I'm sorry," Hiccup whispered, realising for the first time how utterly hollow those words could be. You could pour your heart and soul into them, you could scream them at the top of your lungs, but they wouldn't change a thing. They couldn't bring back the dead. "I was stupid. I was too naïve." There was nothing, nothing he could say that would excuse him or mollify anyone. So, hating himself, he repeated the despicable phrase. "I'm sorry."

He turned and climbed up the hill, tripping over a sharp rock, his own breathing loud in his ears. But he still heard the last blow Spitelout threw at him.

"Some chief you are."

He didn't stop walking until he was inside his own house, shutting the door securely. He built up the fire and stood before it with his hands balled up at his sides, trying to think of a sarcastic quip that would right the state of upheaval in his head. When that failed, he snatched up a pile of parchment and a pencil, sat down and got to work.

He wiped away the shame and remorse, and filled his mind with saddles. What design should he attempt next? They had saddles equipped with hidden weapons, saddles with large storage spaces for long journeys, saddles built for maximum comfort, saddles built for maximum style and maximum discomfort . . . maybe he should tone down the discomfort factor. Many riders wanted gaudy saddles, knowing full well they would not be ideal for five-hour flights, only to embark on those flights and return grumbling about their throbbing posteriors. He began to sketch.

He filled a page, and another, and another. Just as he was flipping the first sheet over to continue on the back, someone banged on the door.

"Hiccup!" Snotlout's voice called.

He clutched his pencil tighter, ignoring him. The soft lines on the page darkened, thickened, became angular and defined.

The rapping continued. "I can see the fire blazing away in there! You can't fool me."

Hiccup's pencil skidded to a stop and he grimaced, driving a fist into the side of his head. All right. Knowing Snotlout, he was going to burst in here when he got tired of being polite and there was nothing Hiccup could do about it. He gathered up the sketches and pushed them aside, waiting.

The relentless knocking stopped, without warning, as abruptly as it had started. Hiccup kept his eyes on the door, hoping, hoping . . .

A pause, and Snotlout's voice floated through the gaps between the wooden planks again. "Hiccup, we have a problem here, and you need to drag your mismatched legs into the open right now."

A jammed gear clicked into place in Hiccup's fuzzy mind, and he leapt to his feet automatically and pulled the door open. Snotlout stood outside, alone. Behind him the village was calm and still, and Hiccup could see no telltale sign of a recent brawl, or a hurricane, or enemy ships on the horizon.

"Gullible as always," Snotlout noted, grinning.

Hiccup made to shut the door in his face, but Snotlout barrelled forward and rammed his shoulder against it.

"Okay, I lied! But in all seriousness, I came here to tell you that my dad is acting like a troll-brained moron."

Hiccup stopped trying to wrestle with the door and stared at him. "He'd better not hear you saying that."

"I don't care if he does. Because it's true."

Shaking his head, Hiccup let go of the door, and Snotlout almost fell face-first across the entrance. "Look, if he told you what he said to me, he's right. I appreciate that you're trying to defend me, but it's no use. He's right."

"No. He didn't mean what he said."

Hiccup, on the point of turning around, paused and looked at him sceptically. You could only stretch the truth so far before the lie underneath swelled to the size of an obese Timberjack. "I'm pretty sure he did. If you'd seen him, you wouldn't doubt it either."

"No, the point is," Snotlout argued, following him into the house, "I _know_ he didn't mean it."

"And I know he did."

Hiccup strode around the edge of the table, but Snotlout quickened his steps and squared himself in Hiccup's path. "Will you just listen?"

Hiccup took a long breath and faced him, his teeth clenched so tightly together that he heard the popping sound they made as they ground against each other.

"He just said it because he's upset. He wanted someone to blame, and you were the perfect scapegoat. If he didn't blame someone . . ." This didn't seem easy for Snotlout to say. He was pacing with nervous restlessness, motioning jerkily at the air. "Then he'd end up blaming . . . himself. You know how our people are. We harp on about dying with honour, but no one's actually fearless. About themselves, or about other people. He's thinking about whether things might have been different if he'd been there, then concluding he would probably have met the same fate, which is something he doesn't want, obviously – so at the same time he's also glad it didn't happen to him."

There was a little too much familiarity and thought in the way he spoke, that suggested some of his words weren't only about his father. Hiccup turned aside. "But I'm sure everyone else will agree with what he –"

Snotlout made an impatient noise. "None of _us_ do – those of us who were there. So if anyone else does, we'll just have to beat them up until they grow a decent-sized brain."

The parts of Hiccup that had been frozen solid were beginning to thaw, but he didn't know which feeling was worse – the numb, icy horror or the sensation of his heart being torn apart from the inside. He threw himself down by the fire and dragged his sleeve once across his eyes.

"Hey," said Snotlout into the silence, and he sounded unexpectedly careful, as if he was treading on thin ice, and a tad apprehensive. He sat down at the corner of the fire pit, leaving a space of a few feet between them. Hiccup felt Snotlout's eyes on him briefly before he turned them to the crackling flames. "Things happen," he said, and although he spoke in a quiet voice that Hiccup was wholly unused to, there was a trace of his usual brazen confidence that lent the words a strange reassuring quality. "And they're nobody's fault. It kind of stinks, this life, when you think about it. You fight and fight and hope you go out in a blaze of glory when your luck runs dry. Not much to it, is there?"

"Not much at all," Hiccup murmured in agreement. "So why do we do it?"

"I'm warning you, do not direct philosophical questions at me. I'm a man of action." He patted his chest proudly. "If you do ask, beware the consequences."

"I think I'm willing to take the risk," said Hiccup, his mouth twisting upwards in a smile.

"Are you completely sure about that? There's no going back."

"I am. Completely."

Snotlout thought for a moment, knitting his thick dark brows so tight that his eyes temporarily disappeared under them. "Well, we do it because . . . if we didn't, we'd get eaten by feral dragons. Or crazy people, for that matter – you never know. And because we're all a bit deranged ourselves."

Hiccup didn't know what he had wanted or expected to hear, but the answer was remarkably succinct and tenable, especially coming from Snotlout, who lived his life roaring through crowds and basking in pleasures with carefree abandon, and didn't stop to think too deeply about anything. In his broad face Hiccup could see an echo of the boy he had once been, the boy who had wrestled with insecurities he'd tried to hide, but had never really succeeded.

"Sounds good to me," he said, and the momentary inkling of doubt vanished from Snotlout's eyes.

A gust of wind hurled itself through the window and sent the pieces of parchment on the table flying. Snotlout reached out and caught one as it sailed to the floor. For a minute he studied it intently.

Then he stood up with the vigour of someone who had just glimpsed Valhalla on Earth. "I need this saddle. I need it right now."

Hiccup laughed – partly in exasperation, but it was sincere all the same. "Give me a few hours, at least, would you?"

"All right, but I'm timing you strictly."

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 **Thanks for reading!**


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